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Holy Toledo, What a Wedding!

It was their special day and they wanted it to epitomize who they were. My lovely niece and her charming beau invited parents, siblings and their best pals to the Daniel Boone National Forest in Kentucky for their wedding ceremony. As rock climbers, they were unfazed by the “over the river and through the woods” hike to the final destination, but my sister-in-law/mother of the bride was already sure that whether she chose to hike or take the ski lift, it would be with eyes shut tightly.

The groom stood on a boulder and announced the day’s agenda. Guests were invited to say a few words and, before long, there wasn’t “a dry eye in the house.” A close friend prepared to be the celebrant by taking an online course and beautifully blended the traditional vows with the bride and groom’s loving and personal promises to each other.

As befitting the occasion, a large log cabin was rented for the weekend. Two foodie families were also joined together that weekend and took turns grilling gourmet meals. The weather smiled down on them as they enjoyed the magnificent terrain during the day, the bonfires at night and each others’ company.

We are among the 75 guests invited to a reception at the Botanical Gardens in Toledo, Ohio. We follow the path from the parking lot and soon find ourselves in the middle of 60 acres of tranquility. The reception is held in a room with big windows that overlook the sculpture garden. My excitement level, extremely high when attending any wedding, is heightened by the fact that my siblings and their children will be all together for the first time in years. This giddiness combined with the first view of the room’s décor overwhelms me.

As I hug and kiss my way around the room, I can’t help but notice out of the corner of my eye that everyone is gathering around the tables and commenting. I find out that the floral arrangements are origami paper flowers planted in edible dirt made up of chocolate covered acai berries in homemade baskets, all created by the bride. The bride’s bouquet is made of natural sola wooden flowers, hand dyed in shades of blush pink and Champagne. Lovely handmade gifts are also on display, such as painted wooden plaques designed by the groom’s sister.

This is all too much for me and I sit down, hoping the lightheaded feeling will pass. Thoughts of projects past begin to creep into my mind and each disaster begins to unfold as if it were yesterday.

The excitement of my first home economics project at age 12 that took a turn for the worst when a 24-hour dry cleaners had to be located (not easy back then) in order to remove the white chalk that was usually used on the underside of the garment. With memories of previous sewing skills, (when wrestling, the sleeves on the pajamas I made for my siblings would inexplicably fall off), it took all I had to walk the runway at the fashion show, fingers crossed all the way that I’d still have a skirt on as I exited. The family promise I made to never to use Crazy Glue again when I accidentally glued my 2 fingers together. And, the family intervention, necessary when I insisted on sewing the hem of Big A’s* grade school pants twice in one week; somehow attaching them to our bed quilt as I sat sewing and then, when the hems fell out during recess, causing Big A to topple over onto half of the kickball team, creating turmoil in the nurse’s office.

A concerned family member notices me and brings me a beverage, which is so delicious that it startles me out of my trance. It’s a rosemary Paloma, an amazing concoction of rosemary simple syrup (homemade by the groom), tequila, grapefruit juice and seltzer. Also offered is a Kentucky Mule (the bride’s jalapeño simple syrup recipe, cucumbers and bourbon), watermelon mint iced tea and apple cinnamon iced tea.

I am now picking up a pattern and learn that both families have worked together to create today’s menu and that everything is homemade: the wine, the beer, the pickles, the rolls, the salads, the beans, the wedding cake (lemon cake with blueberry filling and a lemon basil butternut icing), the chicken wings (3 flavors) and the brisket that the groom’s dad tended all night while sleeping next to his smoker. I am sure that Martha Stewart would be as impressed with this event as I was the day she instructed us all to begin a recipe by collecting cranberries from our cranberry bog.

I am full, both of food and emotions, as I look around and marvel at all the happiness and love in this room. I don’t want the weekend to end and don’t want to let go of this moment. Then, I remember that, just like a good recipe, life is meant to be savored, and when the last taste is gone, it spurs us on to create again.